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And the worst part is, while I was building castles in the sky, you were filling them with sand, waiting for the tide to come wash them away. You used "never" and "forever" interchangeably. And in the end they both proved just as meaningless, weightless, changing with the changing of the seasons. I wrote you many useless verses, always failing to tear down those walls. I wished to break your heart, maybe for an hour or two, just so you could understand. But I'm done. This will be the last one.... ...and if not then it's just another promise, one more promise to myself I've broken.

She patted her leg and was reminded that she had scribbled the word "love." In the past two months, she learned that depression is a sea, a vast underground reserve, murky and brackish, indefinable and perpetually replenished. It grabs hold so strongly that it becomes a structural support, replacing bones, muscles, veins; that it fills her in such a way that she begins to wonder if life can go on without it, or if life even existed before it. Such is depression; all flowers blooming on the surface, verdant grass, chirping birds, but only a façade belying what is hidden underneath. The sad truth, she discovered, was that love can make or

I'm pulling off the hinges from her curtain-covered, Marble-sculpture eyes, And I remind myself I've been here before. But, no, it's never like before. And her kisses slip off the wax of your honey. And she melts in the memory of his embrace. And I wonder if this is what you do when music's thumping. And my phone will not ring again all night. I can just pretend, For a few hours tonight, And maybe again tomorrow, That this is something more than it is. Because if not this then what? If not this play on words, Then I'm left empty handed; A vain, forgotten bag of broken windowpanes. So, yes, tonight I'll be her mistake.

The touch The nape The moan The soft whimper The grasp The hold The taste of red lips The skin The back The forth The back and forth The back and forth and back and forth and back and forth The tension, the buildup, the writhing, the moaning The tantalizing The tickle The exorbitant sum The awkward The slumber The following morning

Yesterday I tore a hole into the bulk of our memories, Slowly crawled inside, And wrapped myself with the warmth of "I love you"s of days gone by. I turned your bubbling laughter into morning-dew-scented wallpaper, And used it to cover the inside of my sad cocoon; My pillow, a pool of your cellophane tears. I woke many times in the middle of the night, As the chill began to freeze the tips of my words. I woke many times in the middle of the night, And realized my face already begins to disappear. I woke up this morning and began to wonder how long I'll have to wait... Wait for the day when you will peer inside and remember That

The venomous recollection Of the sights and the sounds that permeate The soul, the skin, the ever mutating, ever changing filter of Your eyes, Drives a dagger deeper ever still, In such elegant fashion, Straight into the darkest corners of this empty room. I once heard that to behold you was to play with fire, That your touch bleeds the coldest winds of wintertime. But they were only half right. Forgive these words spewing out like ink from a broken pen, Like dark ribbons of paint, Collecting at the bottom of a metal tray. My metal tray heart.

Remember the faintest recollections of a time that was soon misbegotten. I stand here at the threshold of what 's long lost and what's long forgotten. Oh, come, dove of white, spread your wings and teach me how to fly, because if this wave of war-torn clouds in eerie disposition doesn't kill me, I'll be first in line to the show of abominable destruction. Tantalizing, delicious inebriation of words that you tied in a string, vibrating, Undulating, Exploding in sweet ecstasy. Oh, come, dove of white, spread the world flat in sacrifice on the cold, metal surface of our youth. I said, come, dove of white, pull our eyes out, and fil

We paint our picture, In a sad color gray, On all our brain-shaped vases, And on all our vase-shaped eyes. I never saw that floating face, Leaving, intransigent and dull. Was it what we asked for, Or was it how we asked? Strange I always thought I wasn't fazed. But looking back at those remarks, At days long gone and watered down, It's a tall cloud I never climbed. Don't turn back the arms, On that rusty old clock, For you might break time And call it even.   05-16-07

It began with simple verses, All of them bouncing off her tin can hollow. One day she wrote to him, "I don't understand why you bother. This heart of mine was long ago crushed by another." But he was persistent, and so he wrote, "I wish to write a line that could break your heart in two, So I can crumple up and close it back around myself." A flutter in her stomach, And a glassy layer on her eyes. She grabbed pen and paper, and replied, "Take it all, whatever you can find. Everyone before you walked away with part of it." Spring and summer and autumn tumbled by. But one day she became afraid, Afraid of being hurt again. S